


Toy testing with Marge and Abby

by Rose Wilder (romansilence)



Series: The Artist and the Counsellor [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Consensual, Dom/sub, F/F, Judas Cradle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:42:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5403416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romansilence/pseuds/Rose%20Wilder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abby gets to test one of the toys inspired by medieval torture devices her Master/Mistress built for Patricia's and Elena's Club 'the Warehouse at home in their dungeon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toy testing with Marge and Abby

Toy-Testing 

with Abby and Marge

by

Rose Wilder

 

Author’s note: This story is part of the reality surrounding Jacqueline DeNorlan-Lerner, an acclaimed sculptor, and her wife and submissive Assistant District Attorney Victoria Katherine Lerner-DeNorlan, called Tory (see my stories “Punished on Valentine’s Day”, “The Morning After”, “Get a room” on this site). They both are mentioned in this story/chapter but do not take part. The story’s protagonists Abigail Wilson and her Master/Mistress Margaret Samantha Wilson are their friends, (see “Spanking between Show and reality” or my e-book “on her knees”). 

Author’s note II: Special thanks go to my valiant Beta reader, Andrea, who eliminated the worst of my Snafus, and kindly tolerated the American spelling and to Ash_Phoenix who did the last bit of polishing. Any remaining errors, of course are mine. I might have created them while trying to improve the story.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------+

 

Abby looked up from her laptop screen when she heard Marge’s voice over the intercom,

“Abby-baby, can you come down to my workshop and keep me company while I put the contraption back together?”

“Of course, Master, your wish is me command, but I would be grateful if I could go on with my research for a bit,because the prep for the new Karen and Frankie book is interesting at the moment. I’m brushing up on my knowledge about field medicine and triage procedures.”

“Take your time, sweetheart. I’ll need at least an hour to unpack and put it back together and you would only be bored to tears just sitting there and looking on and waiting. It’s soon enough for you to come down when I’m done with that and have it all set up and ready for use in the dungeon. The way Patricia had it wrapped up one would think she’d wanted to ship it overseas, instead of just sending it to another part of town. When I made the toys for ‘the warehouse’ we tested all of them before sending them off, except for two. There had not been enough time. Pat told me that the Iron Maiden is very popular. The other toy, however, has not yet been tried out. I want you to inaugurate it, tonight. I know I’m asking a lot, baby, but you’re brave, you can do it. I’ll position you in a way that will not make it much harder than a long ride on the wooden pony. know you hate and fear having to ride the pony but you’re always so incredibly beautiful when I make you do it. Take your time and continue your research. I’ll call you down when I’m ready for your session, sweetheart.”

“Thank you for your patience, Master.”

“You’re welcome, Abby-baby.”

 

-x-x-x-

 

Abby turned her gaze back to her computer screen, intent on refocusing her attention on the memoirs of an Army doctor from the first Gulf War she had downloaded from the Internet Archives, but as she had expected, her concentration was shot. Yes, Marge had not explicitly told her which instrument of torture would be used on her, but she still knew. There was only one ‘toy’ they had not yet tried out: the Judas Cradle.

She also had yet to experience the Iron Maiden. Marge had replaced the metal spikes at the inside of the figure with spikes made of hard rubber that were also retractable. Confinement in the Iron Maiden would certainly be uncomfortable and might even leave a few bruises but there was no risk seriously injuring the victim. With the ominous Judas Cradle, Abby knew, things were not as clear cut.

Abby knew that her Master / Mistress / wife would make her sit on top of the Judas Cradle, if one could even call it sitting. It was the one recreation of medieval torture devices her Master had created for ‘the warehouse’ on which her beloved Master had not altered the Original, at least as far as she knew. Traditionally a Judas Cradle consisted of three parts: a wooden construction that served as a base, a wooden or metal pyramid shaped seat and a set of chains embedded in the wall or the ceiling with a waist ring to hoist the victim over the seat and decide how much of his or her body weight would be made to rest on the pointed tip of the pyramid and if it would penetrate the vagina or the anus. In the middle Ages the torturers or interrogators often fastened weights made from stone or metal on the victim’s ankles to increase the pressure and inflict more pain.

Abby walked over to the wall where they kept a part of their art catalogues on bookshelves. Their collection consisted of catalogues from art exhibitions or historical exhibitions they had collected over the years or catalogues they had found per chance in book stores or online. She removed a relatively slim volume from one of the shelves about an exhibition of torture instruments in various European cities from 1985. Her Master had found it online a few years ago and had often consulted it for her inventions/modifications for ‘the warehouse’.

Abby opened it to the pages with the Judas Cradle and took it back to her desk. There were pictures and sketches. She copied the accompanying text in her diary and put the book back on its shelf.

The text said: “The procedure remained essentially unchanged from the Middle Ages until today. The Victim is hoisted up […] and lowered onto the point of the pyramid in such a way that his weight rests on the point positioned in the anus, in the vagina, under the scrotum or under the coccyx (the last two or three vertebrae). The executioner, according to the pleasure of the interrogators can vary the pressure from zero to that of total body weight. The victim can be rocked or made to fall repeatedly onto the point.

“The Judas Cradle was thus also called in Italian Culla di Giuda and German Judaswiege but in French it was known as la veille, the “wake” or ”nightwatch”.

“Nowadays this method enjoys the favor of not a few governments in Latin America and elsewhere, with or without improvements like electrified waist rings and Pyramid points.” [Robert Held: Inquisition / Inquisición. A bilingual guide to the exhibition of TORTURE INSTRUMENTS from the Middle Ages to the Industrial Era presented in various European Cities. Florence: Qua D’Arno, 1985, p.50.]

Abby reread her entry after she had returned the book to its place on the shelf. It contained nothing she had not already known, and nothing common sense would not tell anyone just looking at it. Nonetheless, in combination with a few pictures of Judas Cradles she had downloaded from the internet months ago; the short text managed to calm her down considerably and stopped her fearful and pointless speculations.

 

-x-x-x-

 

She closed her diary and returned to the file containing the Gulf War veteran’s memoirs and this time it was surprisingly easy to focus on the text. From time to time she opened her text program and made a few notes for possible future use, though most of them would probably not be incorporated in her next novel.

Finally the intercom clicked again and she heard her Master’s voice, ”Abigail Wilson, it’s time to join me in our dungeon. Drink something and go to the toilet before you join me. I want you to wear your collar, ankle cuffs and a robe. Shoes are not necessary but you may wear slippers on your way down here.”

Abby saved her files and shut her computer down. She drank from the water she kept always close to her desk and went to the bathroom. A few minutes later she entered their playroom/dungeon. Walls and floor were made of stone, a system of chains and pulleys crisscrossed the ceiling. The section closest to the door was relatively low though still high enough for their friends Jacqueline and the even taller Patricia to stand upright without having to fear banging their heads on the ceiling. Further in, the ceiling was at least four meters [about 13 feet] high.

There was a chair standing in the middle of the room next to a big pillow. Abby removed the robe and her slippers. She put the slippers neatly between the front legs of the chair on the floor and hung her folded robe over its back. It was the chair her Master often used for over-the-knees spankings. She got on her knees on the pillow and waited for her Master to acknowledge her presence.

Abby was naked but for a pair of padded ankle cuffs, her beloved slave collar she had been wearing almost continuously for the last month after her Master had put it back around her neck when they had renewed their vows in front of their friends about a week after the grand opening of ‘the warehouse’ (see the chapter “When you find the one” in my e-book “On her knees” (vol. 1 of the artist and the Councilor series).). she was also wearing a waist cincher as part of her corset training Marge had started her on about three months ago. It had already reduced the circumference of her waist which had never been wide by almost an inch. Her Master’s ultimate goal were two inches. Since the renewal of their vows they had cut back on their training sessions; Marge even had let her off the hook a couple of times when Abby had proclaimed that she did not feel well, but that day the tight feeling around her waist gave her a sense of comfort.

Her Master’s voice shock her out of her musings, “Come here and have a closer look, Abby-baby; touch it, explore it, make it yours, before we try it out.”

Abby stood up and walked over to the high-ceilinged part of the dungeon where Marge had put up the Judas Cradle. During her training she had spent many hours helplessly bound, hanging from the ceiling. Due to the big sky light it also was the part of the dungeon with the best light, imbuing it with an almost inviting and friendly air.

Abby looked at the four sturdy wooden legs of the base of the Judas Cradle, held in place by bolts and rings embedded in the floor and short chains connected to the rings. The wooden legs were smooth to the touch and had been polished to a shine, belying their sinister use. Solid two by fours were stretching between the legs and giving them additional stability; they were almost black and gave the legs a more cheery aspect. For a while Abby walked around the base and touched it, but kept her gaze from straying to the pyramid topping the contraption; the thing mainly responsible for the suffering of uncounted thousands over the centuries.

Abby had half completed her second circuit when her Master stopped her by putting an arm around her shoulders. Marge used her other hand to push Abby’s chin up, bringing the dreaded top of the Judas Cradle into full view.

“You can’t avoid it forever, sweetheart.”

“I can try.”

“No, Abby-baby, running away will not change anything. It will not make it less threatening. It was worth a try, but now it’s time to face the music.”

“I do not hear any music, Master.”

“You’re such a smart-ass brat, sometimes, my Abby-baby. I should give you a solid warm-up spanking before putting you up there, but unfortunately I do not want to detract your attention from the effects of the Judas Cradle by giving you the chance to focus on your burning behind instead. Stretch your hands up and feel the metal. I added a little something the design of the original devices did not have. Go ahead, sweetheart. It does not bite.”

“Do I have to, Master?”

“Yes, sweetheart, I want you to understand that though it’s devious; it’s not demonic. It’s only wood and metal, nothing more. Do not let it spook you. It’s just a tool. And it will not be used for the purpose for which it has initially been created. I will not use the pain it can inflict to get you to answer my questions the way I want them to be answered. I want you to tell me the truth as you see it, especially if you think that I will not like your answer, as long as you are honest and do not give me any sass. Have a close look at the pyramid and discover its secret. We will not use it that way this time, but it now has possibilities not intended by the inquisitors of the Middle Ages. Take your time. I’m over there on the couch. Join me when you’re done.”

“Yes, Master, Thank you for giving me the chance to get acquainted with the Judas Cradle.”

“You’re welcome, Abby-baby.”

 

-x-x-x-

 

Abby ducked her head between two of the wooden legs of the base and looked up and retraced the inner edges of the pyramid with her fingertips, because it was too dark to see any details, despite the light falling in from the sky light above her. About a hand’s width below the uppermost tip of the pyramid two thin but solid metal pipes crossed from edge to edge and a thin metal pole with a thread reached up from it. Abby pulled her head out and stretched to her full diminutive height.

She examined the surface of the pyramid and put the palm of her hand on the highest point. She retraced the edges with her fingers and found it smooth to the surface but with an almost imperceptible seam. Abby started to turn the top and soon held it in her hands. The metal pole with the thread protruded about three inches.

Abby replaced the tip of the pyramid and smiled at her Master’s ingenuity. This simple modification made it possible to add all sorts of toys, like butt plugs, dildos, double dildos etc to the pyramid and fit them with a base, almost like a seat or saddle. It would make sessions on the Judas Cradle less excruciating and maybe a little arousing even.

For a moment Abby was not sure if she should be proud that her Master wanted her to experience the Judas Cradle as close to the original as possible or if she should be afraid because it meant at least one other session on that thing in the near future, before Marge would take it apart again and have it shipped back to ‘the warehouse’.

Then she turned her attention back to the angles of the pyramid. They were a bit steeper than the angles of their wooden pony and she realized that there were four not only two hard edges to deal with, not like on a wooden pony which had only one or two. Depending on how much of her weight would get to rest on the pyramid point, by its form alone, the Judas Cradle was an insidious contraption. Abby decided that she had seen everything there was to discover and walked over to her Master. She started to kneel down but Marge stopped her.

“Come here, sweetheart. I need to feel your soft skin under my fingers before I put you up there almost out of reach. I want you to relax, Abby-baby.”

Marge’s touch was soft, almost tentative and it had been ever since their friends had found out about her drunken, abusive outbursts about a month ago and had helped her to stop drinking and get therapy. They had renewed their vows that day, earlier than planned. Abby however, did not let her this day. She took her Master’s hands and guided them to her breasts.

“I love you, Master. There’s no reason to be ashamed or overtly careful.”

“You are so wrong, my Abigail. I did a lot of shameful things, a lot of things that made me disappointed in myself and ashamed at my loss of control, and worse: I hurt you and I misused your trust and your understanding. You should have let me pay for the things I did to you, in our dungeon like our friends and I wanted me to pay. I’m sorry, my love, and I still do not understand why you don’t just leave such a selfish brute, Abby-baby.”

Abby’s body stiffened at Marge’s last words, “Don’t you dare even think something like that about yourself, Margaret Samantha Wilson. I do not leave you because I love you. I do not leave you because you were not in your right mind when you hurt me: You were drunk. It was the alcohol speaking, not you. When you saved me from those gang bangers, you not only saved my life, you also and just as importantly saved my soul. Without you I never would have had the courage to become who I am. I never would have had the guts to pursue my dreams or not give up after the first rejection. And that day, about a month ago when our friends came over and found out and decided to interfere, you had already stopped yourself. You had exhausted most of your alcohol induced anger on the furniture of the living room before you started to hit me. You had given me a black eye and raised your fist. It would have broken my nose, but you stopped yourself and ran off. You stopped on your own, even before Jacqueline and the others came.”

“Too little, too late, my love. By then I had already done a lot of damage. Imagine what could have happened if I had not taken out the bulk of my anger on the furniture first: What would have happened if I instead had whaled on you. I could have killed or seriously hurt or mutilated you. I injured your ribs as it was but I could just as easily have broken them and your lungs could have collapsed or worse.”

“Stop beating up the woman I love, Master. You might have seriously hurt me but you didn’t and I’m not sure if I would have even tried to stop you – maybe I thought that I deserved your anger because I spend so much time writing that could be better spent serving you, Master.”

“No, sweetheart. You got that wrong. I’m so proud that you have found something to do that fills you with passion. Something that is not serving me; and compared to other Masters and Mistresses I’m privileged that you work mostly from home and are at my beck and call whenever I want.

“And don’t try to tell me that you just chose the time of our meeting because you preferred to continue your research over being with me in my workshop. I know that you would have come running immediately if I had made it an order. But having you with while I put the Judas Cradle back together was not important to me. That you are here with me, now, on the other hand is very important.

“It‘s not your fault that I started to see my life in a distorted light when I was drunk and that I saw something as a threat that makes me incredibly proud when I’m sober. It’s not your fault that I started to drink. Drunk I wanted a blind unconditionally obedient puppet, not a real, living woman. Drunk, I wanted a spineless slave out of an unrealistic internet story, not someone able and willing to act and think for herself. I love you and I respect you as my submissive, as my slave and as my wife. Drunk, I took the gift of your submission for granted and acted as if I were entitled to it.”

“But you are, Master. I am yours. I vowed to be yours; in good times and in bad times and the bad times were short lived; they are over now. You made the most important change. In all the years we have been together you never were much of a drinker, Master, and now that you have stopped completely, I know that I have nothing to fear. I love you, Margaret Wilson and I belong to you, all of me.”

“And I love you, Abigail Wilson, and I belong to you just as much as you belong to me. And now enough of the serious talk; let’s cuddle a bit before you get your ride on the Judas Cradle.”

“Cuddling sounds good, but Master, please can’t we do more before you put me up there, all alone?”

“I think that can be arranged, Abby-baby. Let’s wait and see what our bodies have to say to that.”

Instead of giving a verbal answer Abby started to peel Marge out of her formerly black work coveralls. They had been washed so many times that they had turned into an uneven grey over time. There were patches on the knees and Marge loved them. She firmly maintained that every other pair of coveralls she owned or had ever owned either chafed or was otherwise uncomfortable. But Abby was adamant that they had to be thrown out the next time they needed to be repaired. The jury was still out on that, but in the realm of Marge’s clothing Abby usually got what she wanted even if it took a lot longer than she liked.

Marge did not care going shopping for clothes for herself, but at home and when they went out she decided what Abby would wear down to the socks and other accessories. Abby was so experienced in undressing her Master that she got it done without either of them having to get up.

“Do what you want, Abby-baby. I’m all yours for now.”

“Thank you, Master.”

Abby licked along Marge’s cheek and then down the left side of her throat and further down to her shoulder and back in the middle, down her chest. She paid special, loving attention to Marge’s small, firm breasts and already hard nipples. It was always a marvel for her to see how responsive her Master’s body was whenever she allowed her to take the initiative and lead their dance for a short while. Even after ten years it felt almost like the first time only hotter, because she no longer feared doing something wrong and disappointing her Master.

She continued to slide down and soon reached the curly, neatly trimmed triangle between her Master’s legs. Marge’s fingers were playing with her hair. It was the only part of Abby’s body she could easily reach, Abby kissed her Master’s mound and licked the outer labia, but before she could become completely invested in what she was doing Marge stopped her, “Slow down, Abby-baby; this is not a race, Slow down and turn around. I want to feel you and to touch you. I want to give something back. It’s only fair that I’m not the only one enjoying myself.”

“I don’t want to contradict you, Master, but I always enjoy myself when I see you having fun. After all your enjoyment is all that counts, Master.”

“We are about more than that, sweetheart. Stop stalling. It’s time to get down to business. I’m your Master. It’s my right to find enjoyment in seeing you enjoy yourself.”

Abby did not answer with words but turned around and turned her attention back to her wife’s sex. Then Marge started to lick Abby’s center and Abby had a hard time not to let herself get distracted. It did not take long to bring her to the edge. She raised her head a bit and begged to be allowed release.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. Come for me. It’s fine, enjoy yourself but don’t stop what you’re doing.”

“Yes, Master, thank you, Master.”

“You’re welcome, my love.”

They fell silent and for the next thirty minutes or so the only sounds in the big room were moans and groans and kisses and slurping. After Marge’s third orgasm she ordered Abby to stop, turn back around and kiss her. She tasted herself on Abby’s lips but beneath her own musky taste she also identified the essence of her wife’s lips, that special fragrance that was uniquely Abby and which she would recognize among millions. She had long ago stopped to ask herself why that was. After ten years Abby’s taste should have become routine, boring even, but nothing could be further from the truth. Kissing Abby never became boring but Marge still made them stop. She did not want them to become too involved in each other again. She had other plans for the rest of the day and the coming night.

Plans, that would not have Abby as comfortable and relaxed as she was at the moment. The Judas Cradle had been an efficient instrument of torture for many centuries. Marge was curious how Abby would react to it, but she did not want to recreate the medieval torture one on one in their dungeon. The Spanish Inquisition had had no interest at all in the physical integrity of suspected witches and heretics. The last thing she wanted was to cause her wife real, lasting pain. She had done enough of that with her drinking and her uncontrolled rages a few weeks ago.

Abby seemed sure and certain that Marge had stopped herself the day their friends had witnessed the aftermath of one of her outbursts and had decided to interfere. Marge on the other hand was not convinced if she really would have had the strength to stop the drinking and the beatings if their friends had not interfered; if she would not have taken the easy way out and had found excuses, explanations and rationalizations for her unpardonable actions.

Abby had forgiven her that evening and now it was high time to get back to business as usual. They had had their fun; now, there was some serious dominating to be done. The Judas Cradle had to be inaugurated, followed by some intense pampering. Marge smiled at her spouse and patted Abby’s behind affectionately. Abby raised her head from Marge’s shoulder and made visual contact with Marge, “Is it time, Master?”

“Yes, Abby-baby. It’s time to put you up on your throne. Time to prepare you to ride the Cradle. Get up and kneel at the right side of the Cradle’s base, put your hands behind your back, crossed at the wrists.”

 

-x-x-x-

 

Abby obeyed quickly and without a word, but Marge knew that her beloved submissive was anxious about having to try out the Judas Cradle. Marge stood up as well but stopped at one of their paraphernalia cabinets to fetch a few things: a length of rope to immobilize Abby’s hands, a relatively short spreader bar (about one foot long), a leather padded metal ring to put around the waist. It had two d-rings embedded at the sides that soon would be used to hoist Abby on the pointed tip of the pyramid.

She also had a metal collar with d-rings in the front and the back that would replace Abby’s regular collar for the duration of the session. The d-rings would be connected to chains and keep her balanced on her perch. Marge wound the rope around Abby’s wrists and lower arms, immobilizing them while keeping her relatively comfortable. She then replaced Abby’ normal collar with the metal ring, put the waist ring around her slim middle, adjusted it a bit to account for the reduction in waist circumference the waist cincher created. To round up the bondage she fastened Abby’s ankle cuffs to the spreader bar. Then she pressed a few buttons on a remote and a few chains descended from the ceiling. She ordered Abby to sit on the floor with her legs stretched out and fastened the chains to the collar, the waist ring and the spreader bar.

“Are you ready, Abby-baby?”

“Yes, Master, as ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Nervous and afraid. I know this session is not meant as a punishment, but you only make me ride the wooden pony when I have really screwed up. I suppose that sitting on the pointed tip of the pyramid will be much more uncomfortable than riding the pony, especially with my legs held up and stretched out in front of me. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stand it for long.”

“It’s alright, Abby-mine. I don’t plan on leaving you up there all night or letting all of your weight rest on that one point the whole time. You’re free to use your safe word whenever you think you can’t go on anymore. I will still be proud of you. The important thing is that I know that you did your best.

“Since the renewal of our vows we missed six maintenance sessions. If we want to make up for that we’ll have to add six sessions to your regular schedule or find another way for you to work them off. I propose that forty-five minutes you hold out on the Judas Cradle counts as one maintenance sessions. And now, let’s get started.”

Marge used the remote control to raise Abby up from the floor. When she had reached the height of a dinner table, Marge stopped the mechanism and walked over to the small adjoining bathroom from where she took a towel and a moist paper wash cloth. She used both to clean and dry Abby’s sex and thighs still wet from their love making earlier. When she was done Abby thanked her and Marge told her that she was welcome. She then positioned Abby over the pointed tip of the pyramid.

When she was about a hand’s width above the highest point, her Master stepped to her side, parted her inner and outer labia with her fingers and lowered Abby incrementally until she had to remove her fingers to avoid them getting squished. She stopped when the tip of the pyramid was so deeply embedded in her beloved wife‘s and slave’s body that it covered the minuscule seam where the top could be unscrewed. Marge stopped the chains holding Abby’s legs but let her body go down further until there was a bit of slack in the chains fastened to Abby’s waist. Most of Abby’s weight was now resting on her sex except for her legs still being held by the chains fastened to the spreader bar. She ducked around one side and popped up right in front of Abby. Her Master made sure that Abby’s clitoris was not being squished by the position.

Abby whispered, “Thank you, Master.”

Marge answered, “Don’t thank me yet, Abby-baby. Thank me when I let you down again and you then still feel like doing it. From now on I do not want to hear anything from you but your safe word when you can’t stand it any longer and the answers to the questions I might or might not ask you, after all the Judas Cradle was meant for interrogation. So, it would only add authenticity to the experience if I became your inquisitor.”

Abby nodded in the affirmative as sign of her obedience.

“Good girl, but I first want you to get used to being up there before I start asking any questions, up there on your throne.”

Marge then disappeared from Abby’s field of vision but Abby knew from experience that her Master would not leave her alone. She never did when Abby was helplessly bound not even during the long weeks of her abusive outbursts in their every day life. In the dungeon she had always been a conscientious and consummate Master. Abby felt her skin squished between the hard edges of the pyramid and her pelvic bone. Had she been riding the wooden pony instead of the Judas Cradle she would have relied on the strength of her legs to try to push herself upwards.

Yes, she could try to use the chains as leverage but she had no idea if she could get enough rise to really make it easier and how long she would be able to hold on before she lost control, dropped down and possibly injured herself. The pressure on her sex rose steadily. Had her legs not been stretched out waist high in front of her but hanging like on a horse she would have felt as if she would slowly be split in half. Abby felt tears running down her face. And only a few moments later her Master asked,

“Are you alright, Abby-baby?”

“Yes, Master, thank you for asking.”

Marge made sure that the rope holding Abby’s hands on her back did not cut off the circulation. She raised the leg chain a couple of inches which put more pressure on Abby’s pelvic bone. Abby sighed in resignation but did not say anything more and simultaneously took out the slack in the other chains, making sure that they held at least some of her weight.

Marge smiled at her and said, “That’s my brave girl, and now try to relax. We’re only just beginning our session.”

Marge left again but this time Abby did not try to follow her with her gaze; instead she closed her eyes. She heard her Master’s feet on the stone floor, heard her coming back, carrying something. Abby opened her eyes again when she recognized the sound of a metal ladder being opened and positioned at her side. Marge climbed just high enough for easy access and started to play with Abby’s nipples and breasts.

“So beautiful and all mine. It would be a real crime to leave those perfect globes unattended. I just checked our nipple clamp collection and decided that none of them will do for today. Jacqueline told me that she has recently developed a certain fondness for using rubber bands on Tory’s nipples. We’ll give them a try; I think they will do fine for our purpose.”

Abby’s nipples responded instantly to her Master’s touch and her words by getting even harder than they already were. Her clitoris was pulsing despite the pain and she hardly felt it when her Master wrapped the dark green rubber band around her nipples and added another turn to make them as tight as possible without cutting off the circulation.

“I love you, Abby-baby, you know that, right?”

“Yes, Master I know and I love you.”

Marge kissed her, climbed down and removed the ladder. She took a few of the pillows from the other side of the room and put them in the corner Abby was facing. She disappeared again and returned with two bottles of chilled juice from the small fridge in the dungeon. She made herself comfortable and looked up to Abby who tried not to show her discomfort too openly. Depending on her position Marge could either focus on Abby’s sex, glistening with arousal though the tip of the pyramid split her apart; or she could observe how she used her strong legs to push herself up, at least a tiny bit. An effort that was ultimately doomed to fail as Marge knew well. In the long run gravity always was stronger than the efforts of a single human being.

Marge opened her bottle and took a small sip. It was still ice cold. Too cold to offer it to Abby who was very sensitive to heat or coldness coming in contact with her teeth, so sensitive, that she used a special tooth paste and mouth wash. The juice would quickly adapt to the temperature of the room and Abby would be able to drink it without adding to her discomfort. After ten or fifteen minutes Abby’s legs started to tremble and shake and she could no longer ease the strain on her sex. She sank on the pyramid silently but for a grimace of pain. Marge’s heart swelled with pride. She decided that her beloved was now ready to be interrogated.

“Abigail Wilson I want you to answer my questions to the best of your abilities and I want you to consider your answers very carefully. Last month if our friends had not been worried about you and found you unconscious and beaten what would you have done? Would you have done the right thing and pressed charges against your abuser at the next police precinct? And no, baby, don’t answer spontaneously. I need you to give it some serious thought.”

“Yes, Master, I will.”

 

-x-x-x-

 

Abby closed her eyes and recalled the last few minutes of her Master’s last abusive outburst before she had lost consciousness.

Marge had slapped her so hard that she had been thrown half across their bedroom and had landed hard on the floor. Her from an earlier beating already sore ribs cried out in pain and she felt slightly dizzy. She had tried to get up, but Marge had been faster. She had crossed the room and had roughly pulled her back to her feet. Abby remembered that she had cringed at seeing her Master’s hand closed to a fist, ready and raised to hit her in he face.

She had closed her eyes knowing that there was nothing she could do that would not make things worse for her. Marge was beyond the point of being receptive to rational arguments. But Marge had not hit her, instead she had pushed her off with force and Abby had stumbled against the door frame leading to the living room. Abby had lost consciousness then and the next thing she knew was waking up on their bed, hearing AJ, Tory and Elena talking about her and her Master. Abby opened her eyes again and found her Master still sitting on the floor, waiting more or less patiently for an answer.

“Do you want me to repeat the question, Abby-baby?”

“No, Master. I have an answer. No, I would not have pressed charges against you for one reason and one reason only. It would not have been necessary. You stopped yourself that day and I’m sure that even without our friends interfering; you would have taken the steps necessary to stop the cycle of violence without help. When you lost control and beat me you were not my Master. You were just one step away from becoming an abuser. Your actions were those of an abuser and I reacted like most victims of domestic violence though I really should know better. I learned a lot about the dynamics and psychology of domestic violence in school and from occasionally working with AJ.”

“So, you think that just because I stopped once when I saw you cringing in fear and resigned to your fate that I would have stopped for good on my own? After I had beaten you so intensely that just one more hard strike against your ribs could have punctured your lungs and have seriously endangered you? You were injured and unconscious and I left you alone. Is that the action of a loving wife and conscientious Master? You are wrong, Abby-baby. I think that you need some more time to reevaluate your answer. What would you have done if I had returned and had another fit of anger at seeing the living room still in disarray, taking that out on you, injured as you were? What would you have done then? Take your time before you answer.”

“I see the problem, Master, but I’m not sure that I will find the answer you want to hear.”

“I want the truth, Abigail, not what you think or hope or believe to be the truth, not what you think I think, fear or believe to be the truth. Imagine what you would have done or thought if it had not been you being abused but Tory or Sandra or Elena, put yourself in their shoes for the moment. Imagine that their Mistresses had acted the way I did until they all stopped me and Jacq installed the additional feed to our alarm system.”

Marge saw that Abby pressed her lips together and swallowed hard; that was a sure sign that she was starting to become thirsty. She tested the temperature of the juice she had taken from the fridge for her wife and found it acceptable. She stood up, retrieved the ladder, opened the bottle and helped Abby drink her tomato juice. They both had ample experience in doing that thanks to Marge’s propensity for elaborate bondage.

Marge returned to her seat and raised Abby’s legs a bit higher. She made it more difficult for her to use them as leverage to ease the pressure on her center. She had only been up there for less than an hour and Marge was still far from having learned what she wanted to hear. Abby was apparently not yet ready to stop lying to herself and trying to find excuses and explanations for Marge’s inexcusable behavior. Her beloved Abigail had the staggering gift of seeing qualities in her no one else was able to discern.

And Marge was honest enough with herself to know that she needed Abby’s seemingly endless, unconditional love, Waiting for Abby’s answer Marge started to long for a beer or two, but she had promised herself that for the time being she would not drink any alcohol at all to make it easier not to succumb to temptation. The temptation, however was always there, and that told her that she had already become an alcoholic. She had to take things one step at a time and stay stronger than the temptation. That was the least she owed her beloved. Marge kept one eye on the wall mounted clock on the other side of the room, but most of her attention was focused on Abby who was still silently suffering on the Judas Cradle with her eyes closed and trying not to show her discomfort and pain. Her beloved Abby-baby was so brave, Marge thought. And for the fraction of a heartbeat she considered ending the scene and Abby’s torment early.

But then Abby opened her eyes again and smiled, a genuine, heart-stopping smile and there was new resolve in her expression, “Master, you wanted to know what I would have done if you had beaten me again upon your return or if you would have had an unrelated episode a few days later. I think I have found my answer. I would not have gone to the police or the District Attorney. I would have gone to our friends, to Sandy and Elena. Victoria is too much of a prosecutor to easily accept that our case is among those things better taken care of by family. She is an officer of the law and has an obligation to be opposed to our do-it-yourself methods.

“At the opening of ‘the warehouse’ when you hit me; I was only a hair’s width away from telling them about our problems and asking for help. I might even have gone for help that day if I had woken up alone in our apartment with busted ribs and to a trashed living room.”

“Are you sure, Abby-baby?”

“Yes, Master, I’m sure. I trust our friends but when you were drinking I could not really trust you. Please forgive me, Master.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Abby-baby. I am the one who should be apologizing.”

“But you did, Master. And as far as I’m concerned this part of our lives is over and done with, never to return. I forgave you for hitting me and losing control and getting drunk. I love you. I will always love you. I even loved you when I was afraid of how you would react to anything I did or did not do. I thought a lot about what you said when the others were here and we renewed our vows. And I came to a decision. I decided that one day I will get you to see yourself with my eyes. One day you will look in the mirror and see yourself and you will see someone who is beautiful and strong and loving and honest and mine.”

“Beautiful? You must be delusional, Abby-baby.”

“Yes, Master, beautiful. To me you are beautiful. You were beautiful when you lit into those bastards who beat me and were about to rape me like a vengeful Goddess. They might have killed me and without your help and care they would have at least killed my soul.”

“I only was in the right place at the right time, Abby-baby. And when I saw what was going on I knew I had to stop them. I did not know you from Eve then, but there was something in your eyes. I could not just drop you off at a hospital. I felt responsible for you. Your eyes were calling to me and I could not ignore their call. Tory would probably point out that we should have called the police and brought them to justice in a court of law, and that then their other crimes also would have come to light.”

“And Tory would have a point, in principle. In reality every single one of the men who attacked me by now is either dead or in jail, serving a life sentence. They got what they deserved, not for what you kept them from doing to me but for other things that were equally heinous or worse. Justice was served.

“I can’t repeat it often enough, Master, You did not only save my body that day. In the bargain I also found the one person who fulfills all my needs, who holds my soul and my life and my heart.”

“And yet I failed you, Abby-mine.”

“No, Master…” Marge silenced Abby by putting her index finger over Abby’s lips.

“Be honest to yourself, Abby-baby. What I did to you can not be undone, even if one looks at it with pink-tinted glasses. I broke my vows and I hurt you. I lost control and turned from your fair and loving Master into an abusive bastard. I failed myself, and worse, I failed you, my love. And please, stop trying to find excuses for what I did. It was inexcusable.”

“Regardless, I love you, Margaret Samantha Wilson. And I’m proud that you are my Master and my wife. And I would be very grateful if you could take me down from here soon. It’s starting to hurt very much.”

“I can imagine, Abigail, but you know that this is not the way. You know what I need to hear to free you from your throne and I think that you’re not quite ready to give in just yet. It has been less than two hours.”

“You are right, Master. I’m not yet ready to give up and use my safe word. That will come soon enough. I have just one concern about that. When Jacqueline modified our security system to react to my safe word, did she also include the dungeon? Will our friends come running when I use my safe word here? Making them believe that you have lost control again?”

“No, Abby-mine. I talked with Jacq about it when I decided that it was time to inaugurate the Judas Cradle. It was always your wife who lost control, never your Master. I never ignored your safe word down here and I never will. Your Master was never just a hair’s breadth away from irrevocably turning into an abusive alcoholic, your wife was. She was insecure and jealous, not your Master, Abby-mine.”

“I love you, Margaret Samantha Wilson, even when you lose control but I can adore and worship you better when you are just my strong, loving Master.”

“I love you as well, Abigail Wilson, the adoring submissive woman and the successful best-seller author. And now I think there has been enough talk for the moment.”

“Yes, Master.”

Abby once again closed her eyes and tried to alleviate the pressure on her sex and her perineum by relying on the strength of her legs. Silence settled over the room, but not the uncomfortable silence of a crowded elevator or a doctor’s waiting room. It was a peaceful silence. Her Master’s question had been hard to answer but she felt much better now, almost at peace. So, she allowed her mind to drift along memory lane.

 

-x-x-x-

 

Her first two novels had been fairly successful but they had not made it to the top spot on the best-seller lists. Her first Frankie and Karen novel had been a tremendous success and for the second her publisher had sent her on a long reading tour on which her Master had not been able to accompany her because at the time she had been busy with the preparations for the grand opening of her 77th store; there were 113 now. Marge had only been able to join her for the last three stops of the long tour and by then Abby had been heartily tired of the daily routine though she enjoyed the signing and the reading; she hated traveling from town to town seeing nothing but the inside of hotel rooms, restaurants and book stores.

Abby had had no idea that her master had even intended to join her. So, one day, when the assistant, assigned to her by her publisher, had told her that it would soon be time to begin the reading. That day she had been fighting a throbbing headache; so, Abby had decided to give the Advil she had just taken a few more minutes to start working. Abby had checked her make-up and closed her eyes to relax. She had woken up feeling a hand resting on her knee.

“It’s time to get started, Abby-baby. The crowd out there is starting to get antsy. You’re already more than twenty minutes late. That assistant of yours is running out of excuses for you. I missed you, my love; it was very long three weeks, despite our daily talks. But making your fans wait like that is not very nice, sweetheart, and has to be punished and we’ll have to start making up for all the maintenance sessions we missed. I brought your friend Jenny.”

‘Jenny’ was an extremely flexible bamboo cane covered in fine leather. Among all of their implements it was the one she dreaded most because it stung very much, but it also held an unparalleled fascination. Time and again she had just held it, looked at it and had run her fingers over its length, trying to find out what made it so different from other bamboo canes they possessed and used occasionally.

“But it will have to wait. We should deliver your fans from their misery and start the reading.”

They had left the small room that this evening served as her wardrobe and entered the main store. They had to descend about a dozen stairs to reach the main level from where Abby would be reading. She reached for Marge’s hand and pulled her at her side. Then she whistled loudly to attract everyone’s attention,

“Good evening, everybody. The pills I took to get rid of my headache have knocked me out. To make up for the delay I decided that I will not read from the chapter my publisher proposed. I decided to read another scene, he would probably consider far too explicit. Before I start I have a question to ask: Are there any minors in attendance? They will have to leave.”

No one had stepped forward but they had later learned that the barely teenaged daughter of an employee of the store had snuck in without her mother knowing about it and found a comfortable hide-away where she fell asleep during the signing. Abby read a bit longer than usual and tried to make up for the lost time by not taking a break before the signing session. After that Marge had taken her to a Greek restaurant and then back to the hotel. Abby had put on her collar and asked her Master to be punished severely for having fallen asleep. Marge in turn decided that the unexpected reaction to the painkillers constituted extenuating circumstances and that Jenny would not get a work-out that night. 

Marge had made Abby strip and touched every square inch of newly revealed skin as if it were the first time. Her touch was mostly exploratory as if she wanted to find out if Abby’s skin still felt as it had three weeks ago when the book tour had started. They had talked on the phone every night and Marge had made her masturbate but had not allowed her any release. So, it came as no surprise that Abby’s attention starved body reacted to her Master’s touch as someone drowning reaches for a rescue vest.

After a while Marge had ordered her to lie down on the bed, on her front, hold on to the headboard and spread her legs. In preparation for a maintenance session Marge had already positioned the two pillows on top of each other in the middle of the bed and reminded her beloved submissive to make sure that her buttocks were properly positioned. She had not expected that she would instead use it as a punishment setting.

“And now, Abby-mine, spread your legs a bit further and try to relax. You will receive twenty-one strokes with a riding crop on your bare buttocks for having kept your public and your Master waiting earlier that evening. I will only use the riding crop and not Jenny because you did not know how you would react to the Advil. Are you ready, Abby-baby? Or do you need more time?”

“I’m ready Master, thank you for not letting me get away with my tardiness.”

“You can thank me after the twenty-first stroke and you do not need to count.”

Marge had started Abby’s punishment just below the small of her back and systematically worked her way down. Her strokes were hard and showed her Mastery. She never hit one spot twice; the strokes did not overlap or cross. Abby had counted silently. She deserved the punishment. Yes, her Master had shown leniency in using the riding crop and not the cane, but she still made sure that there would be clear marks on her behind and she would feel the punishment for a couple of days, just as it should be.

Her tears had started to fall with stroke Number seventeen but before she had a chance to really start crying it had been over. Her Master had let the crop fall to the floor, stripped herself, joined her in bed and pulled her in her arms. Abby had looked up at her and had smiled under her tears and said softly, “Thank you, Master, thank you for being lenient with me. I love you, Master.”

“And I love you, Abby-mine. That chapter about Karen and Frankie you read today, I don’t remember it being in the draft you gave me before you sent it to your publisher.”

“Because it had not yet been written; My agent said that it needed more spice and that it needed a better integration in the main narrative. Master, May I please make love to you now?”

“No, Abby-baby, not right now. I want to make love to you first, I want to make you come for me. And I want you to think of nothing but of how much it pleases me to see you in your release. Can you live with that restriction, baby?”

“Yes, Master, I can live with that, thank you.”

“You can thank me after your first orgasm, sweetheart.”

Marge had made Abby straddle her and started to play with her breasts,

“So beautiful and so responsive. They must have been very lonely without me paying them attention. I just love touching them and making your nipples stand at attention, see them quiver in anticipation. So beautiful and all mine.”

“Yes, Master; all yours. I missed you so much. I don’t have words to say how much I missed you. I need to feel your touch, please stop teasing me and touch me in earnest, make me come just with your hands on my breasts.”

“At home, I might have seen your words as an attempt to top from the bottom, because you neglected to use the magic word. You did not say ’please’, but I missed you as well and so I will be generous and will play with your sweet globes and make you come. And, baby, you don’t have to ask for permission you may come whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Master. I love you.”

Marge and Abby had made love for most of the night and climaxed so many times they lost count. They got about two hours of sleep before Abby’s alarm clock rang and they had to get ready for breakfast. They had spent the day doing some sight-seeing, because her next scheduled reading and signing session would be in the same town she did not have to travel or change hotels. 

After three weeks of forced abstinence Abby was a bit sore from their marathon session the night before and her buttocks were burning from the session under the crop but she was also extremely relieved to have her Master at her side again. She had missed her even more than she had expected.

They had a short discussion about which sights to go see. Marge wanted to go to the technology museum, but Abby convinced her that they should take advantage of the sunny weather and take a walk through the gardens first, have something to eat and then go to the museum or shopping. Which had of course meant that they had gone to the museum; Marge did not like to go shopping without having something specific in mind.

In the evening Abby had read from her usual chapter though a few people in the audience seemed disappointed with her choice. After dinner her Master had made her perform her slave positions and then they had made love for half of the night when they had both fallen asleep completely exhausted.

 

-x-x-x-

 

Abby ended her walk along memory lane by reopening her eyes and suddenly her mind and body were almost overwhelmingly flooded with her current situation. She found that her legs had been so far raised that she could no longer use them to push herself up. Her sex and perineum ached as if she were split in half. Even breathing hurt. Every ex-hale and inhale sent an additional stab of pain through her body. It felt worse than almost everything she had ever experienced, worse than the Spanish boots or the wooden horse.

Abby became aware that she must have been crying for some time now without being aware of it, while her mind had been busy elsewhere. She tried to make visual contact with her Master, but she only saw the pile of cushions and pillows on the floor, but it was extremely blurry. Marge was not where she had been, but it took her a while to realize that. Abby blinked to clear her vision and turned her head as best as she could, but her Master was nowhere to be seen. For a moment she feared that Marge had left her to suffer alone, but she knew better. Her Master would never do that to her.

She also could only see a small part of the room. Suddenly she saw a cup with a clear liquid and a thick straw right in front of her. She lowered her head a bit and drank the water. It had just the right temperature. A bit colder than the room but not so much that it would hurt her teeth. Marge removed the cup when it was empty and put it on the bucket rest of the ladder; then she closed her arms around Abby’s torso.

The movement made her shift on her perch and she yelped and fresh tears were running down her face.

“You’ve been very brave, Abby-baby. I think it’s time to grant you a reprieve. You’ve been up here for more than three and a half hours. That’s enough time to get an idea of the properties of the Judas Cradle. Just a few more moments to remove the ladder and get the remote control for the chains. I left it with the pillows.”

“Please, Master, don’t. I understand that you want to end my suffering and don’t want to risk that it makes me once again drift into memory land or subspace. Yes, it hurts and I want it to end, but there is something that I want and need more, my Marge. I want you to be proud of me, really proud.”

“I am proud of you, Abby-mine. I admire your strength. Spending so much time up on that pyramid point has given you bruises, inside and they will continue to hurt even after I have taken you down. I also have a hard time to ignore your begging; so, I’ll let you stay up here for another twenty minutes and after that I will take you down and we will take a nice, long bubble bath upstairs.

“I will take care of you and tuck you in bed to sleep in my arms. You can go back to your research tomorrow, right?”

“I had not planned on doing any more research today, Master. I was sure that the session on the Judas Cradle would not leave me in any condition to focus on work. What are you doing now, Master?”

“I’m just restoring your initial position, sweetheart. It puts a bit less pressure on your sex than the one you’re in now.”

“Moving hurts, Master, but as usual you are right: it gets better with my legs not that high.”

Marge put the remote down when Abby’s legs were parallel to the floor. Abby immediately tried to relieve the pressure on her private parts with the strength of her thigh muscles, but her legs started to shake and tremble after only a few moments: She was already worn out from her earlier mostly unconscious efforts in that regard over the last few hours.

Once again her tears began to flow; they ran down her face in small rivulets, but Abby did not complain. She even tried to smile. She looked up at the skylight and saw that night had fallen. The movement shifted her weight towards the back and she could not suppress the groan that rose up from her throat. She felt herself being raised up; she looked down again and made visual contact with her Master. Marge made her go up until she was hanging about a foot above the tip of the pyramid which was slick and shining with her ´sweat and juices.

Marge then made her move to the side and started to lower her slowly. When she was low enough to stand, Marge removed the spreader bar and the chains holding up her legs and feet. And held her tight, pressed against her body. Then she removed the waist ring and the collar and made her stretch out face first on the cushions in the corner. Marge removed the rope binding her arms and massaged her fingers, hands and shoulders then she stripped her off the waist cincher. She grabbed a bottle of massage oil from the side and applied it to Abby’s back and buttocks. Her ministrations were slow and gentle.

Abby raised her head, “Master, I don’t want to sound ungrateful but should not I be the one giving you a relaxing massage instead of the other way round?”

“Hush, Abby-baby. I have decided that you deserve some pampering. So, be quiet and take what you have coming.”

“Yes, Master, thank you, Master.”

“You’re welcome, Abby-mine.”

As expected Abby quickly succumbed to the effects of her exhausting session on the Judas Cradle and fell asleep. Marge made sure that all of the oil was well absorbed; then she turned Abby on her back and spread her legs and put soothing Aloe balm on her tender and angry red nether region. She was tempted to do something about the still lingering scent of arousal, but she did not give in to temptation but checked her beloved’s pussy lips and sex for signs of bruising and other injuries. Abby’s clitoris was red but only slightly swollen. A few hours of rest would go a long way to normalize things, but Marge was very familiar with the reaction of Abby’s body and its recovery rates. She knew there would be more bruising than after a session on the wooden horse and that Abby’s pussy lips and sex would be extremely tender to the touch for the next couple of days at least.

Marge bent down and put a gentle, chaste kiss on Abby’s shaven mound. She picked her up and carried her to elevator that led to their apartment upstairs. Abby woke up when Marge opened the door to the living room,

“Thank you for carrying me but you should not have inconvenienced yourself on my behalf, Master. I should be serving you.”

Marge laughed at her words, “Oh, Abby-baby! It’s not an inconvenience and if you had tried to carry me you would have ended up in Sandra’s hospital with a hernia or something like that. I’m just too heavy to be carried around, but I like carrying you, Abby-mine, and I decided that after your painful session on the Judas Cradle you are entitled to some pampering. I consider sending the thing back to Pat and Elena and ‘the warehouse’ without making you first try out the modifications I added to the original design. I’m not decided yet. It depends on how well your bruises will heal, sweetheart.”

While talking Marge had opened the door without letting go of Abby and carried her beloved over the threshold and to the bathroom,

“Here we are, sweetheart. I think I promised you a long soak in a hot scented tub with lots of bubbles and Dead Sea salt.”

Marge removed the rubber bands from Abby’s nipples. They were slightly swollen but there was no considerable discoloration. In other words the circulation had not been cut off. Abby only hissed softly when they were finally gone and Marge had found another reason to be proud of her beloved because she knew how much it must hurt to have them taken off.

They climbed into the tub and played a bit in the water but without bringing each other to a climax and then they went to bed.

 

-x-x-x-

 

The next morning at breakfast Marge made Abby talk about her time on the Judas Cradle and had her compare it to a long ride on a wooden pony.

“I don’t know if I can do that, Master. There are many points which make comparing the two devices the obvious choice. They both are based on the same principle. Both can be used in a way that can almost be called comfortable for the victim. But the Judas Cradle serves one true purpose: to inflict pain and agony on the victim up to the point that he or she will say anything the interrogators want to hear. And at the time of its invention and most widespread use they had no particular interest in the well-being of their subjects.

“By the time one was actually subjected to torture the authorities in charge had already decided what they wanted to hear from the accused. It then was only about inflicting pain on people who did not fit seamlessly into their view of the world.

“As a torture device the wooden pony was never as popular as the Iron Maiden the Spanish boots or the Judas Cradle, but in my eyes it’s just as effective. If it were up to me I would get rid of them both or never had added them to the toy collection in the first place.

The Judas Cradle is certainly more intimidating while a contraption like the wooden pony can be found in practically every barn, stable or work shop. And not only because of its size, but because of the history behind it. The name is also misleading. Wooden pony sounds so harmless; the name does not give an adequate impression of how hard it is to ride one for more than a few minutes and not being able to get off of it without help.

Up there on the Judas Cradle in the dungeon I also thought about the possible origins of the Judas Cradle, the name alone is ominous in itself. An instrument of torture named after the traitor of all traitors, the man who ratted out his friend and teacher for a bit of money. It’s easy to imagine that they did not start out with an elaborate system of chains and pulleys, but went to the next tree and let the victim drop onto something hard and pointed while bound to a rope…”

“Oh, Abby-baby. You have such a wild imagination, letting the pictures in your mind run away with you. Never change. I would miss out on a vital part of my life.”

“Thank you, Marge. When will you put me up there again to make up for the rest of the maintenance sessions we missed?”

“Not before you have completely recovered from yesterday’s session. You also could make up for the missed maintenance sessions the conventional way: with maintenance discipline instead of sessions on the Judas cradle. We will see and we have all the time we need; Patricia told me that she’s not in a hurry to get it back. She said that she only lets trusted and very experienced Dominants use the Judas Cradle and that they have to agree that their sessions with it will be monitored. And now, it’s time for you to go back to your research and for me to start my shift in the shop.”

They cleaned up the kitchen together and Marge laced Abby in a training corset before she went downstairs to the sex shop. Abby would not have been able to slouch in front of her computer if she had wanted to.

Three weeks and two two hours sessions later the Judas Cradle was shipped back to ‘the warehouse’. Abby was happy to see it being picked up. During the first session Marge had made her wear one of their biggest butt plugs. During the second session she had been perched on a narrow seat while impaled on a vibrator at its highest setting. Her Master had allowed her to come as often as she wanted and Abby was not one to let such a rare chance slip through her fingers. When Marge finally took her down she had been so exhausted; she had fallen asleep almost immediately. She did, however, not know that her Master had already started to build a replica in her work shop.

 

THE END

 

 

 

4


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